After sharing a smooch and a dance that one night under the lanterns, Zhongli and Childe finally take their relationship to the next level: Holding hands.

CW: Smut

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Zhongli has never been so fucking awkward in his entire life.

It isn't the awkwardness itself—Archons know that he's a master at being entirely socially inept. But this... this... He is entirely unequipped; he doesn't know where to begin; he might've made the biggest mistake of his life.

Zhongli pines. His heart yearns for a man with curling, auburn hair, and freckle-dusted cheeks. Every day that passes digs a little bit deeper into his gut, and it's because he's realized—

One, two, three, went the beat and he realized that he was in love.

Hu tao is unimpressed. Hu tao looks at him with scorn, waving her hand around in supreme annoyance. "Why don't you just... I don't know—talk to him?"

"I—" Zhongli doesn't know where he would even begin. He rubs his face and whines. He doesn't have the fortitude to deal with his boss.

He and Childe are not avoiding each other, in fact, they spend more time side-by-side now than ever before. But that is it. They shared a dance and a kiss, and Zhongli's stony heart practically melted into smelted ore. Nothing else has changed.

It is supposed to, isn't it? His brow furrows as he thinks, which only leads to a headache. Zhongli is new to the wonders of the heart and he is entirely out of his depth. His only references are books and, usually, when someone kisses the object of their affection, sparks fly and everything after comes with ease.

The books lied.

Hu Tao watches him for a few seconds more and then throws her head back dramatically, groans loudly, and leaves the room without another word. Zhongli is left in the quiet parlor of the funeral home, his only company, the freshly deceased.

He turns to a coffin. "Surely you don't have any advice?"

Predictably, the coffin doesn't answer.

#

They have not talked about the kiss. Or the dance. Or that entire night, spent together as they swayed to soft music underneath the orange glow of lantern lights. How they walked home holding hands, chatting quietly as they roamed the streets. The way that Childe smiled at him, soft and genuine as Zhongli bade him goodnight.

Today, they sit at Wanmin Restaurant in the mid-afternoon, as they always do. Childe laughs at something that Zhongli says, even though it likely isn't even funny. He fumbles with his chopsticks and swoons the moment he tastes Xiangling's cooking.

Zhongli watches him, chin resting in his hand. Stares at the way that Childe's brow crinkles slightly and how his freckles seem just a little bit darker. That little dimple that dots his right cheek, cutting into his face when Childe grins.

This is good. Quiet, enjoyable, full of warmth.

It isn't enough. Not when Zhongli has had a taste of more. Not with the knowledge that Childe kissed him first, building a bridge right over the gap Zhongli thought impossible to cross. The soft press of Childe's mouth against his, too chaste for what he really wants.

But, at the time, it was perfect.

Zhongli shifts, pressing his fingers against his mouth, wondering.

"Mr. Zhongli?"

Zhongli frowns. That name. The title. Doesn't matter if it's the more traditional Xiansheng, or that teasing and casual Mister, they both sour his gut, sinkinglike heavy lead. Zhongli wonders if Childe regrets the kiss.

"Are you... uh, spacing out on me?"

"Childe," he finally says, pulling his head from his chin. He picks up his chopsticks delicately and pokes around at his food. "I was merely thinking."

Childe seems wary, his mouth drawn slightly. "You? Thinking so quietly?"

He seems to have a point there. Zhongli isn't typically a man of quiet, introspective thoughts whilst in the company of others.

Just talk to him, said Hu Tao earlier, exasperated beyond belief. He hadn't asked her for advice, she'd thrust it upon him uninvited. He remembers there might have been a few choice words about his work performance slipping as of late, accompanied by some curses, and an accusation of him being distracted.

Zhongli cannot remember that last time his thoughts were focused solely on, seemingly, one thing. Or rather—one person.

And, for a moment, Zhongli considers Hu Tao's advice. Childe waits patiently, cradling his cheek in the palm of his hand, dull blue eyes curious.

On the night of the festival, they'd twinkled with mirth. Zhongli was enthralled, enraptured by the sight. So different than now, not that he doesn't look good here, too. Childe would still look good beaten up bloody, something that has only become increasingly obvious as time passes.

"Hey." Childe reaches out and tugs at his sleeve.

Zhongli swears that he can feel the heat of Childe's hand through both his shirt sleeve and coat. "Childe, that night—" He stops himself, though, unsure what to say past that.

Childe relaxes, a soft smile forming on his lips. "Are you worried about that? Zhongli, you shouldn't be."

Zhongli swallows thickly.

"Hey," repeats Childe, this time softer. He moves to grab Zhongli's hand instead, smoothing a thumb across the back of his knuckles. "I enjoyed myself. Did you?"

"Of course." It's such an easy answer.

"Then that's enough, right?"

It isn't. It will never be.

But that isn't what Zhongli tells him.

#

Childe begins to hold his hand.

Every time that they meet, it's an immediate touch. Calloused fingers, scarred from his spars, curled tightly around Zhongli's palm. He refuses to let go until they part ways for the night.

It just about sets Zhongli on fire. He tugs at his collar, hot and bothered by something as simple as a touch of the hand. He's too old for this. He should be able to keep a hold of himself but his resolve slowly but surely slips with every moment that Childe insists on warming his glove.

And the staring. Every time Zhongli meets his gaze, Childe is already staring back, a lazy sort of smile gracing his face. And he keeps staring, eyes crinkled at the corners. He'll tug Zhongli's hand to his mouth and press a kiss to his knuckles, and Zhongli is pretty sure that he'd melt into a puddle if he wasn't made of stone.

Zhongli is not good at flirting, he barely knows what flirting is. He's seen Childe do it, smooth words as he dazzles another with that rapscallion smile—but when directed at Zhongli, it's stuttered and bumbling instead. Ridiculous-sounding idioms that Zhongli struggles to understand.

Like this night, as they walk along the shore at Yaoguang Shoal. Childe laughs as he tugs at his wrist. "Hey, what do you say to some moonlighting? Sounds fun, right?"

Zhongli blinks, confused. "Er, moonlighting? Childe, I assure you that my current position at the funeral parlor is the only one that I have—"

Childe bursts into laughter and then slots his fingers in between his, and Zhongli has a distinct feeling that he's missed something entirely.

On another day, they are sharing tea and muffins.

Childe picks the pastry up and gives Zhongli a devilish smile. "Hey, what if I told you that I wanted to squish the muffin with you?"

Zhongli chokes on his tea, spitting it out in a rare show of losing his composure.

"Gods, are you okay?"

"Childe, you want to what?"

Childe blinks. And then he thinks. And then he realizes. "Oh, that sounded—er, no, no, you misunderstood." He chuckles, rubbing his brow nervously. "My sister teased me about it. It's what the kids are calling holding hands nowadays."

It sounds absurd and Zhongli is inclined to believe that Childe's younger sister is pulling both of their legs.

Childe drops the muffin and reaches out, fingers curling around Zhongli's wrist. His thumb slips in between his glove and sleeve, smoothing over his wrist bone. A solid touch to open skin. Zhongli freezes, nostrils flaring, but Childe doesn't seem to notice.

"Hand-holding, I swear. That's all I'm asking for."

"I..." Zhongli clears his throat, tugging at his too-tight collar with his free hand. "I would like that."

Zhongli wants more. He wants any and everything, all of Childe. More kisses and slow dances underneath the night sky. Soft little moments where they lean close together, breathing each other's space, whispering quiet words.

But, for now, he'll settle for holding hands.

#

It persists.

Zhongli isn't complaining—certainly not. He loves this newfound closeness and the way that Childe leans into him. The lingering hands and touches, and the sweet way in which Childe just watches him as they walk through the Harbor.

He isn't used to the way that his heart speeds up, or how it beats faster in his throat. He feels like a child, in some ways, giddy at the prospect of something new—but terrified of it as well. Zhongli is old and a creature of habit. He doesn't do change well, no matter how he wants or tries.

This is something that he doesn't want to screw up.

Zhongli never thought for a moment that Childe might be enduring the same internalized misery. He thought perhaps the persistence of taking it slow was just that.

One night is different.

They share a particularly late dinner at Wanmin Restaurant. Childe sits next to him instead of across the table. Their knees knock together as they laugh and enjoy their meal. Zhongli wonders if a person can get drunk off of happiness because he knows that it isn't tea.

Childe's face is flush, pink across those dangerously high cheekbones. Zhongli reaches out to sweep a thumb across one. "A spot of something," he says, even though he just wanted to touch.

"Oh?" Childe knows better, though, his mouth curling into a grin. He leans into the touch, cocking his head to the side to nuzzle against Zhongli's hand.

Oh, that's a dangerous thing. Zhongli has to stop himself from outright purring in response. Childe responds so well to his touch and he wants to see more. Zhongli's free hand finds his thigh, nails digging in, trying to distract himself.

"You know what I'm thinking?" asks Childe, "Our dinner is mostly done, so— You, me, and a nice moonlit walk. The Harbor is quiet, perfect for working on our library positioning."

Zhongli bursts into laughter at the absurd phrase. "More hand-holding, I assume?"

"With you? Always. Can't get enough of it." Childe turns his face and kisses Zhongli's palm, his lips lingering. He watches Zhongli, his pupils blown wide. Zhongli swallows, ignoring the way that his cock twitches so easily.

He is unused to the desire that curls so readily in his belly. He's wanted Childe for longer than he'd care to admit but he's always kept a tight rein on his instincts, perfectly content with his dreams, and occasionally fucking the tight grip of his hand.

A kiss on his palm shouldn't ignite such things. The thought of holding hands shouldn't boil his blood.

But it does.

"Want to get out of here?" asks Childe, nuzzling his knuckles, uncaring of who might see.

"Yes," says Zhongli, immediately.

#

They make it just past table number two before Childe tugs him into the alleyway at the end of the restaurant.

Zhongli finds himself pressed against a brick wall, the stone digging into the small of his back. Childe grasps him by the chin, leaning close until their breath is mingling. "I want to kiss you again," he says. They haven't since that dance and Zhongli is surprised by how much he craves it. "I've lied. It isn't enough, Zhongli. Please let me kiss you again."

"Childe—"

"Do you remember what I asked you to call me when we're alone like this?" Zhongli couldn't forget if he tried. Childe chuckles, nosing along the line of Zhongli's neck. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, you know. The way that your lips feel against mine."

Childe needs to shut up, so Zhongli kisses him. It's a surprise to them both, but Childe sinks into it and responds eagerly. His hands curl around the back of Zhongli's neck, pulling him closer, scratching through the soft baby hairs there.

It is nothing like the other kiss which was quiet, quaint, and soft-handed. This one is all-consuming as it takes over them. Zhongli moans into Childe's mouth as his hands circle around to grab his waist.

Childe invades his space, his presence, his entire being. His tongue slips out to lick across the seam of Zhongli's mouth, and Zhongli gasps, opening right up. "Fuck," breathes Childe against him, and Zhongli chases his mouth, seeking out more.

An easy response, so, so easy when Childe responds instinctually. His tongue is soft as it invades Zhongli's mouth. His fingers scratch at his neck, digging into Zhongli's skin, pulling at his hair gently.

It's been a long time since Zhongli has felt pleasure burn through his veins like this. A century at least, and even back then it wasn't something so needy. It's Childe that does this to him, makes him so desperate.

A dance, he thinks. A dance, a kiss, and the fact that he's in love—Zhongli can't help the way that his cock so easily fills out, trapped tightly in his trousers.

"Hm, what was it I said? We could practice our hand-holding? I think that I like this better."

Zhongli does too, and groans when they kiss again. Childe's hand finds one of his, pulling it away from his waist, locking their fingers together. Zhongli relishes the closeness of it.

Childe is brutal in the way that he touches him. It's loving, almost. With care. But it's also desperate as he squeezes Zhongli's hand tight and nips at his lips. "Gods," he whispers against Zhongli's mouth. "I could do this forever, I think. Never stop."

He pulls back and drags Zhongli's hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. "What would you call it? Premarital Interdigitation?"

"Surely you aren't thinking of marriage, are you?" Because Zhongli would, he can, he happily will—

Childe laughs, shifting against him, shoving his thigh between Zhongli's leg to brace himself.

Zhongli panics. Childe freezes. And then, Childe smiles against his mouth and pulls away. "Oh." That tone. Childe's voice has just dipped deeper and he leans in close, placing his mouth by his ear. "Have I bothered the unflappable Mr. Zhongli?"

"I—"

Childe slides a hand down Zhongli's side, squeezing at his hip. He kisses the spot just underneath Zhongli's ear, and then the line of his jawbone. His neck, teeth dragging along the skin there, and Zhongli moans, barely catching the sound with his hand.

"So you're a loud one then? Imagine my surprise, Xiansheng."

Zhongli whimpers, hating the nickname. This isn't the time or place for it, not with Childe's hand sweeping low and across the front of his trousers. His fingers ghost the tented ridge of his cock, and Zhongli's head slams back against the stone.

"Please."

Childe stills, nuzzling Zhongli's ear with his nose. "I can stop." Zhongli says nothing. "I will if you ask me to but I am not above begging. Please, Zhongli, let me take care of this." He squeezes Zhongli's erection for good measure.

"Yes," he says, the entirety of his resolve evaporating. He can handle Childe palming him until he comes in his pants. He can make do with the heavy petting and the fevered making-out; these are things that he can find a way to weather through.

Zhongli cannot handle Childe sinking to his knees onto the cobblestone, or the way that he presses his cheek to the ridge of Zhongli's cock. His throat goes dry. Childe's hands shake slightly as they press against the waistband of his trousers.

"Ajax," he murmurs, reaching down to comb his fingers through his hair.

"I've dreamed of this, you know. Too often and too much." He unclasps Zhongli's trousers and frees his cock. And stares. Zhongli watches Childe's throat bob as he just looks. "Shit."

Zhongli supposes that is a good response. Childe grabs his length gently and kisses the tip of it, and Zhongli nearly unravels with just that. It's been too long—too fucking long since he's indulged in something like this.

Childe watches him as takes him into his mouth, eyes half-lidded and unblinking. He covers the rest of his cock with his hand, but his mouth just sinks down, and down, and down. It is wet and slick. Childe's throat flutters around him. Zhongli yanks at his hair suddenly, momentarily losing himself, and Childe hums around him, the vibrations of it ruinous.

Zhongli whimpers, his head tipping back, squeezing tight. He is pretty certain that this is how he is going to die—in the back alley behind Wanmin Restaurant, Childe's searing hot mouth wrapped tightly around his dick.

"I'm—I'm—Oh, Ajax."

Childe sucks his cock, tongue plastered to the underside. He jerks his hand in tandem as he bobs his head. Zhongli's dick slides in and out of his mouth in a wet and slippery mess. Zhongli's hands cup Childe's face, and he bucks against him gently.

Which only makes him moan. Childe sounds pathetic as he slurps at his cock messily. He drools, his hand spreading it to ease the friction. Zhongli widens his stance, which allows Childe to slide a little bit closer.

"Come on," he encourages when he pulls off. Childe kisses the tip again and then licks down the entire length of it. Zhongli feels as though the air has been punched from his chest, unable to breathe and unable to think. "Come on, Zhongli, you can fuck my mouth."

Oh, how he wants. Anything, at this point, but particularly that. Rutting into Childe's mouth until the head of his dick is nudging the back of his throat. Childe would look so beautiful and watch him back, he just knows it.

Just one problem.

"I can't—"

"You can," says Childe, nuzzling the coarse hair at the base of his cock, just barely revealed from where his trousers droop.

"No, you misunderstand. I—"

"Zhongli, I'm telling you that you can—"

"I won't last." Childe pauses in what he does and Zhongli slaps a hand over his face in embarrassment. "Fuck, I—It's been so long since I've last... And it's you—How am I supposed to last? I'm going to come the moment that I look at you."

He expects Childe to laugh at him but he doesn't. Just kisses the soft skin of his belly, and the right at the root of his cock. "Alright," he says. "Another day, then." A pause. "You should look at me, though."

Zhongli groans at the mere idea of it.

"Come on, Zhongli. I want to see you." Then, Childe sucks him down again, his mouth a heavenly wet warmth that nearly does him in.

Zhongli looks. Can't help it, not with the sounds that Childe's making—those soft little moans as he slides his mouth along his length; the breathy little sighs when he pulls off to lap at the tip instead, his tongue swirling around it.

He looks obscene with his lips swollen and spit-slick, stretched to the limit around his dick.

Zhongli thumbs over his cheekbone. "My gods," he says softly. "Look at you. Ajax, look at you."

Childe moans so prettily and Zhongli does buck against him, his cock slipping in deeper. Tears prick the corner of Childe's eyes as he chokes slightly around him. Zhongli can't help but think about taking him, right then and there. Opening Childe up on his fingers, slipping his cock in deep right to the root.

He'd die then too, but it'd be a death well worth it, fucking this man that he loves so early.

Not here. No, no, somewhere far more private, where Zhongli can press him into a mattress and whisper the dirtiest praises into his ears. And then, afterward, he'll pull him close and they'll fall asleep like that, and Zhongli can wake in the morning and make love to him again.

Is this what his retirement is to be like? Him, reduced to a debauched mess, hormones raging like a mortal teenager? Zhongli has dealt with worse. He thinks.

Later. For now—

Childe's forehead is sweaty with strain and Zhongli pets through his hair with a gentle touch. He rolls his hips forward slowly, slipping in and out of his mouth. Childe meets his movements, sucking around him. He paws at Zhongli's trousers with one hand, fingers tugging at the fabric, and with the other, he jerks the part of his cock that hasn't pushed past his lips.

"So good for me," says Zhongli, "Just like I knew you would be. My darling—"

Childe seems to like that, an endearment of his own. His mouth works faster, disordered and messy. Drool drips from his lips as he does his best to Zhongli to the edge. He doesn't need to, he's already there, hanging on by a thread.

"Ajax, I'm—" Zhongli pulls at his hair, words failing him. "I'm—Hngh, I'm—"

He comes suddenly, right into Childe's mouth. Childe sputters slightly, dragging a hand over Zhongli's thighs as they tense. He swallows his come down dutifully, without complaint. And when he pulls off Zhongli's cock, he licks up any traces that might've spilled over. Slowly. Thoroughly. Moans as though it's a delicacy.

Zhongli's cock twitches, oversensitive. But also ready for a second round because he's an adeptus, and his drive is wholly different from what Childe is surely used to. Zhongli groans, wiping at his forehead.

"Fuck," rasps Childe, when all is said and done. "Shit, Zhongli, I—"

Zhongli pulls him up until he's standing again. He takes his chin into his hand and tugs him forward. He kisses Childe, tongue slipping into his mouth to plunder it. Childe moans, hand curling around his neck, refusing to let go.

"Ajax, you—"

"Oh, I'm good," he says, his words a little slurred. He presses their foreheads together, and Zhongli soaks up the feel of him. His hand ghosts down, pressing against Childe's half-hard cock—only to find a massive wet patch across the front of his trousers.

"You've gone and made a mess of yourself." Zhongli doesn't mean for it to come out just this side of reprimanding, but Childe's gaze darkens, and his mouth curls into a grin.

"Guess I should get changed. My place or yours?"

They pick Zhongli's place; fewer eyes and ears, and no Fatui a stone's throw away. Childe changes into one of Zhongli's spare shirts, the hem reaching just past the swell of his ass. Zhongli watches from where he lies in the bed, unable to tear his gaze away.

"I'm too tired for anything else," says Childe, as he slips into the sheets.

"Hm, I agree. I'd rather just enjoy this time beside you." Zhongli presses against Childe's back, fitting against him as though he belongs there. He combs through Childe's hair and presses kiss after kiss to the top of his spine.

Childe is like jelly in his grasp. "I don't sleep well," he says quietly. "I have nightmares. Just a warning."

This is the first that Zhongli is heard of it, though it isn't entirely surprising. "I am here. I'll fight off those demons."

"Can you take on the Abyss?" Childe laughs at the thought.

Zhongli nearly asks, but decides not to ruin the moment. There is plenty of time to probe that particular thought. For now— "Rest," he says, pressing his nose into Childe's auburn curls. He smells like sweat and the ocean, and something else dark that curls underneath his skin.

"Didn't think I'd have to resort to hand-holding to get into your bed."

"What did you call it? Premarital Interdigitation?"

Childe snorts tiredly. "I prefer squishing muffins. Less likely to make my Ma roll over in her grave."

"Your mother is alive, Ajax."

Childe hums, a pleased and content sound. "I've wanted this forever, you know. Or what feels like it."

"To suck me off in an alleyway? You should dream bigger." Zhongli teases him to hide his own wants and needs because if he doesn't, he just might say something he regrets instead. He loves him, he loves him, he loves him—

"No, to just... enjoy you. This. You make me feel safe. Probably the only thing that does. I've always had to watch my own back."

Zhongli preens, Childe's words satisfying that old and ancient dragon of his. He keeps petting through Childe's hair until his breathing evens out, and he starts to snore slightly.

And, for once, he sleeps too.